


Tell Me a Secret

by Eudoxia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Beaches, Birthday Sex, First Time, Get Together, Gift Fic, James and Lily are alive, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Nudity, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:24:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eudoxia/pseuds/Eudoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the Prompt "Tell me a secret. Drarry."</p><p>Basically PWP for my friend. Today is her birthday, too!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me a Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JellyBun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyBun/gifts).



> I have about a million and one problems with this fic so if you see any, don't tell me. I also write this in about a day sooo.....

Harry sneaks out of the house at eleven P.M. on July thirtieth. He’s careful to avoid the second step from the bottom, the one that squeaks, and to duck past the mirror in the hall that shouts complements (courtesy of Uncle Sirius). He slips out the back door and through the hedge, into the little alley between his parent’s house and their neighbor’s. Turning right, he heads for the street.

 

Godric’s Hollow is hot this time year, even at night. It’s a balmy heat that presses in on him, making it hard to catch a breath, like he’s standing in one of the green houses at Hogwarts. Only here, he can’t walk outside to find relief. And inside is not where he wants to go.

 

Harry stops under the lamppost at the corner and leans against the sun warmed metal. He watches the dark clouds blot out the stars and the last sliver of the moon, barely visible now.

 

A soft crack breaks the air.

 

“There’ll be a new moon in a few days” he says aloud.

 

“A waning moon is good moon to harvest roots. And a waxing moon is a good time for the leaves and flowers.”

 

Harry snorts as he pushes himself off the lamppost. “I’ll be sure to remember that for our N.E.W.T.S. this year, thank you, Draco. Now, if only I were still taking Herbology.”

 

Draco laughs, low and deep, and steps into the lamp light. He’s wearing dark charcoal slacks and the sapphire blue shirt that Harry knows Draco knows he likes. It brings out the blue in Draco’s normally silver eyes. His white blond hair is kept at ‘proper wizard length’—down to his waist—and tied back by a simple black leather band with a small silver charm. Even in the month or so since Harry last saw him, it seems like Draco’s an inch taller and a few inches broader across the shoulders.

 

“A t-shirt, Harry? A t-shirt and jeans?” Draco shakes his head, “I can’t take you anywhere.”

 

Harry laughs, taking a step closer and knocking his own slim shoulder into Draco’s. “We’re not going anywhere special. This is what normal people wear when they sneak out of their houses at midnight.”

 

Draco holds up a finger, “First of all, I did not _sneak_ anywhere. I calmly walked out of my house”—“Mansion,” Harry interrupts,—“and apparated here. There was no sneaking involved.”

 

Harry raises a brow, “That help you sleep at night?”

 

Draco smirks, “You know what helps me sleep at night.”

 

Harry doesn’t meet Draco’s eyes and hopes the other teen can’t see his blush.

 

“Yes, six years of sharing a dorm will do that,” Harry says.

 

Draco laughs. “Come on. We’ve got places to be.” He holds out a hand, beaconing.

 

It feels like making a deal with a devil, Harry thinks. All smooth voice and sly smile. Soft at first glance but all teeth underneath. He’s known Draco since he was seven and in nearly ten years he’s never managed to unwrap himself from Draco’s fingers.

 

Harry takes Draco’s hand.

 

In a crack, they’re gone, the lamp light shining on nothing but sidewalk.

 

Harry stumbles as they land, hard ground coming up to meet his unsuspecting feet. A breeze ruffles his dark hair, whipping the strands into his face and across his glasses. It’s cooler here than in Godric’s Hollow but not cool enough that Harry wishes he’d taken a coat. It smells like brine and there’s a faint roaring in his ears.

 

Briefly, Harry’s hand tightens around Draco’s.

 

“Where did you take me?” Harry asks.

 

Draco shrugs a shoulder, “Follow me.”

 

Harry follows.

 

Over the crest of a reedy dune, Harry can see waves, crashing against soft, sandy beach. To his right is nothing but ocean. To his left are small rolling hills and, nestled in them, a mansion.

 

Harry smirks, “Is this your summer home? In southern France?”

 

Draco shrugs a shoulder and turns, walking backwards. “Yes. Do you care? You know, for another hour, it’d be considered kidnapping.” Draco raises his eyebrows, mouth dropping into a false pout.

 

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “How did you get approval for this? With the Ministry of International Apparition?”

 

Draco stops and Harry runs into his chest, having been too focus on his feet and not tripping over tufts of grass.

 

Draco smiles down at Harry. “You know, as long as it’s my or my family’s property, I don’t need approval from the M.o.I.A.?”

 

“Really?” Harry breathes, and then he notices how close he’s leaning in and pulls back, trying to will away the redness in his face.

 

“So,” Draco says, finally dropping Harry’s hand. He tucks them into the pockets in his slacks. “Would you like to go to the beach or head up to the cottage?”

 

Harry shrugs and heads to the beach. “Is it warm?”

 

Draco hums, “If not, I can work my magic and heat things up.”

 

“Oh, my god,” Harry smothers his laughter and tears in his hands. “I don’t know how the first and second years are so afraid of you. You’re a complete dumbass.”

 

“Is that one of your quaint muggle words?”

 

Harry glares and pulls his shirt off over his head. He drops it to the sand then toes of his shoes, peels off his socks, and reaches for his belt, shucking his jeans off before he can decide against it.

 

In just his boxers, the wind feels colder, caressing across his skin and drawing up gooseflesh.

 

Harry runs into the waves and dives under the wake, one hand on his glasses to keep them from being lost. When he resurfaces, he’s a few feet farther out that he thought he’d be but close enough that if he put his feet down, he’d still feel the sand under his toes.

 

Draco is still standing on the shore, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

 

“Are you going to join me or are you going to stare at me all night?” Harry calls.

 

Draco lurches unto motion, ungainly, tugging at the laces of his leather shoes and pulling his silk socks off. He unbuttons his cuffs and then freezes for a moment, eyes unfocused.

 

“I’m not,” he starts, as his fingers tug gently at his blue shirt, inch by inch being untucked.

 

“What?” Harry yells, swimming closer.

 

Draco pulls at a button, popping the bottom one open first, and then the next, soft white hairs on his stomach catching in the waning moon light.

 

“I’m not wearing any pants,” Draco says, popping another button.

 

For a moment, Harry doesn’t understand, too distracted by the fact that Draco does in fact have _ridiculous_ muscle definition on his stomach. But then it hits Harry, like a punch to the gut.

 

Draco isn’t wearing _pants_. So if he _were_ to join Harry, out here in the Mediterranean Sea, he’d be naked. Completely.

 

Harry sinks into the water to cover his blush.

 

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, both because they both happen to have cocks and because they are on the same Quitdditch team. Montague and Warrington always had a thing for stealing towels in the locker room. But it’s a bit different out in the middle of the sea in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. Even if they are best friends.

 

Mostly because of Harry’s crush on Draco.

 

It started in second year when Pansy Parkinson asked Draco to help her study for potions, alone. And Draco had agreed, leaving Harry on an emerald green couch wondering what just happened. And then again in third year, when Harry would be sitting alone in the Three Broomsticks waiting for Draco to join him only for the blonde never to show. He’d met Hermione Granger because of that. Met her and dated her for about a month before deciding they were better off as friends.

 

In fourth year, Draco switched positions from Chaser to Beater and suddenly he had muscle on his shoulders and _abs_. Harry very carefully had to avoid showering next to him for a few months until he managed to get his libido in check. In fifth year, Harry finally gave up an admitted to himself that he had a hard on for Draco Malfoy.

 

It didn’t help that they shared a dorm and a bathroom and a locker room but over the years Harry had gotten very adept at hiding his feelings, and his erections. So by the time his sixth year came and went, Harry could almost convince himself that his feelings were very much under wraps and he was in total control.

 

But now, Harry is in the middle of the sea, with a half hard cock and Draco Malfoy is standing on shore saying he’s not wearing any _pants_.

 

Draco pops the last button on his shirt.

 

“Join me,” Harry says, before he can think better of it.

 

Draco’s smile is all teeth. He shrugs his shirt off his shoulders and folds it over his shoes. His wand is strapped to his left forearm in a leather holster, dark against his pale skin. Draco keeps his eyes on his folded shirt as he pulls his belt from its loops, wraps the dragon hide around and around his knuckles and drops it in a coil onto the sapphire silk. He thumbs the button open at the top of his slacks, drags the zipper down, and slips his thumbs under the waistband.

 

Harry watches, transfixed and half submerged, as Draco slips the slacks over his ass, off his thighs, and down his calves. Like the rest of his clothes, he takes his time folding the slacks and sets them on his shirt. Draco then reaches up and unties the leather band from his hair. The silver charm clinks in the night, loud in Harry’s ears.

 

It’s been years since Harry has actually seen Draco’s hair loose about his face. It seemed to be that as soon as it was long enough to pull back it was always tied up or plaited down his spine. That in itself seems more arousing than the fact that Draco’s bare to the world.

 

Harry presses a hand to his cock, trying to will his erection away. Now isn’t the time. Right now, it’s minutes to his seventeenth birthday and he wants to enjoy the night as a carefree teen before he has to finish his summer homework and start gathering up his schoolbooks.

 

Harry dives under the waves again and thinks about the time Cho Chang tried to give him a tear-filled hand job after she and Cedric Diggory broke up last year. It helps enough that he’s only half hard again.

 

“Well,” Draco says, waist-deep in the water, “now I feel underdressed.”

 

Harry glares, “I’m not taking my pants off, you wanker. You’re the one who forgot to wear any.”

 

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Did I? Silly me.”

 

Harry bites his lip at the implication.

 

“And just how often do you _forget_ , Draco?”

 

Draco hums and dives under the waves. When he resurfaces, he’s feet from Harry.

 

“Often enough. Why? Jealous, Potter?”

 

Harry rolls his eyes and throws a wave at Draco’s face. “You wish.”

 

“Oh,” Draco smirks, “don’t start with me.”

 

Harry smiles back. He knows that look. Knows it from years of being a Seeker and watching Draco hit bludger after bludger away from his back and into the other team’s faces.

 

Harry gathers a mouthful of water and spits it in Draco’s face.

 

As fast as he can, Harry dives under the water and tries to swim back to shore. He makes it a few feet before a hand wraps around his ankle and tugs. Harry shrieks as he feels another hand reach for his side.

 

“No! Unfair!”

 

Draco shakes his head. “Totally fair! You spit in my face!”

 

“It doesn’t,”—but Harry’s next words are drowned out by his own yelp.

 

“Doesn’t count?” Draco asks, his fingers running along Harry’s ribs, digging in and tickling. “Doesn’t count! It’s spit, Potter!”

 

Harry shrieks again and then gathers another mouthful to spray at Draco. Draco’s grip loosens just enough to slip away and actually make a break for shore.

 

“You utter _wanker_ , Harry!”

 

Harry laughs, sputtering and coughing into the sand.

 

“You deserved it,” he says as he stretches out, waves lapping at his hips.

 

Draco swims up and sits cross-legged, the sea offering a modestly he usually doesn’t feel the need for.

 

“I most certainly did _not_ ,” he says.

 

Harry laughs again, tucking his arms behind his head. The stars a brighter in this part of Europe than they are in Godric’s Hollow.

 

“What time is it?”

 

Draco shrugs but pulls his wand from its sheath on his arm to cast a quick tempus charm. “Twelve twelve, if you can believe it.” He slips his wand away, pulls his legs up to his chest, and rests his arms against his knees.

 

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Draco says, a soft smile curling over his face.

 

Harry’s smile is wide and happy, “Thanks,” and he scrubs his hands over his face to try to keep Draco from seeing the blush rising to his cheeks. It’s ridiculous, what that smile does to him.

 

And then Harry feels some time warm and wet pouring onto his stomach.

 

“Bleeuh.” And Draco is leaning over him spitting sea water onto his belly.

 

“Dude!” Harry shoves at Draco’s shoulders. “Gross! Fucking gross!” Harry dives back into the wake.

 

When he resurfaces, Draco is clutching his stomach, laughing so hard he’s rolled onto the sand.

 

“I told you! I fucking told you,” Draco crows.

 

Harry mutters under his breath as he swims back to shore and then marches to his clothes, looking for his wand. It’s not necessarily that Draco spit sea water on his stomach, it’s more that Harry didn’t need the image of Draco leaned over his lap with his mouth wide open.

 

Harry thanks the sea and a cool breeze for all their help.

 

He’s nearly gotten his hand around his wand when Draco says, “Done already?” and suddenly Harry’s being lifted into the air and carried back to the sea, wand left in his heap of clothes.

 

“Draco!”

 

Draco hums against his back, the vibrations rattling into Harry’s chest.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?”

 

“Dragging you back into the sea so I can have my wicked way with you.”

 

“Draco!”

 

“I’m secretly a merperson.”

 

“Draco!” Harry covers his face with his hands and groans. “You’re terrible.”

 

Draco laughs into Harry’s neck, a deep rich sound that always makes Harry feel light. He rolls his head back onto Draco’s shoulder and stars at the stars again. He looks for the serpent constellation, the set of stars Draco’s named after.

 

“Relax,” Draco whispers, lips brushing against Harry’s neck.

 

If Draco really does want Harry to relax, he’s doing a terrible job. But Harry does plant his feet in the sand, the water coming up to his waist, and drape his hands over Draco’s where they’re wrapped just under his chest. Harry leans back, tentatively, pressing his back to Draco’s broader chest.

 

Draco’s arms tighten around Harry. He murmurs, “Tell me a secret.”

 

It reminds Harry of when he was seven and met Draco for the first time. Uncle Sirius had brought him over saying that Narcissa needed a break from being a single mother since Lucius died.

 

Little Draco had sat next to him on the bench in Lily’s garden as they both swung their legs and then, suddenly, Draco had said, “Tell me a secret.”

 

Little Harry had thought for a moment and finally said, “I’m not afraid of the dark. But mommy is so I let her keep the night light in my room in case she needs me.”

 

Draco had hummed and said, “Now ask me.”

 

And so Harry said, “Tell me a secret.”

 

And Draco had replied, “I don’t really remember my Father. But I think Mother smiles more now that she can talk to her family again.”

 

Harry had nodded and they sat there in silence until Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus came over and asked if they wanted to play a game. It’s become something they’ll do when they want to talk about serious topics without needing a reason to bring them up.

 

Right now, standing in the waves and the warm breeze, Harry thinks of a secret Draco doesn’t know. There are more than enough for him to say but the one that keeps coming to the forefront of his mind is simple.

 

Harry may be a Slytherin but he’s got Gryffindor courage through and through.

 

Harry squeezes Draco’s hands and says, more quietly than he meant to, “I’m in love with you.”

 

Harry can feel Draco’s sharp inhale against his back, can feel his arms tighten around his chest, one hand shifting to splay across the center of his chest, pinning them together.

 

Draco drags his lips up Harry’s neck and whispers, hot and heavy against the shell of his ear, “Now ask me.”

 

Harry shivers and says, breathless, “Tell me a secret, Draco.”

 

Draco hisses. The hand that isn’t on Harry’s chest slips down, below Harry’s bellybutton, but still above his cock, and _presses_ , pushing Harry’s ass into Draco’s crotch. Harry gasps, hips twitching back into Draco’s hardening cock. One of Harry’s hands flies up to tangle into the soft hair at the base of Draco’s neck.

 

“Tell me a secret, _please_.”

 

Draco groans and his hand slips down another inch, fingertips sliding under the waistband of Harry’s boxers.

 

Draco licks his lips, tongue touching the shell of Harry’s ear briefly. Harry twitches again, his whole body caught in the motion.

 

When Draco speaks, it’s low and husky and just the sound alone makes Harry moan.

 

“I love you, too, Harry,” Draco says.

 

Harry twists, desperate, hand tugging at Draco’s hair. “Kiss me,” he orders.

 

Draco does. He presses their lips together, hot and needy and Harry gasps into it.

 

“Please.”

 

Draco’s arms loosen just enough for Harry to twist fully around. His hands go to Harry’s ass, hitching him up. Harry doesn’t hesitate to wrap his legs around Draco’s hips.

 

“Please,” Harry whispers again and with a crack they’re falling into a four poster bed.

 

Harry groans, head tipping back as Draco trails kisses down his neck.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Draco chuckles into his neck, “If you want to.” His hand slips down Harry’s side and curls tightly around Harry’s hip, thumb pressing into the cut of his hipbone.

 

Harry gasps, hips thrusting up, trying to get friction against his erection.

 

“Draco.”

 

Harry tangles his hands into Draco’s hair and pulls, angling the blonde’s face up and to his own.

 

“Shit,” Draco gasps against his lips and then louder, “Shit!” as he pulls away.

 

“Draco?”

 

“I’ll be right back.”

 

“Draco!”

 

But Draco disappears with a crack.

 

“Fuck,” Harry groans, flopping back on the bed and scrubs a hand over his face.

 

It’s just like Draco to leave in the middle of whatever it is they’re doing. Not because he’s mean or anything but because Draco tends to think about what he wants first and how to get and then to think about others second.

 

Harry drops his hands onto his stomach and looks around the room. He figures he’s probably in the house he could see from the shore, since this isn’t Draco’s room at Malfoy Manor. The lights lit themselves when they arrived and the room is decorated in a similar style to Draco’s at the Manor. All mahogany furniture and plush cushions but it’s in a lighter color scheme, pale blues and sea foam greens, gold instead of silver.

 

On the nightstand is a framed photo of a twelve year old Draco and Harry, still only eleven, on the same shore they just came from. Draco’s cheeks and shoulders are bright red from the sun. Harry’s wearing a wide brim straw hat that Lily dropped on his head at the beginning of the day. Wide smiles split their faces and they’re swaying slightly, the momentum of Draco wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders nearly knocking the boy into his chest.

 

Harry smirks and lays back on the bed, stretching out. Or not, Harry thinks with a hiss. His boxers are damp and chafing. Harry plants his feet on the bed and lifts his hips, pushing his boxers down and off.

 

“Fuck,” he hisses as he finally drops them off the edge of the bed. Harry can’t resist, now that his cock is free, to wrap a hand around himself and pump, base to tip. His hips arch off the bed, pushing up into his fist, tight and warm and Harry moans, biting his lip.

 

There’s a crack and then, “Fuck, Harry, I was gone for, like, a minute.”

 

Harry chuckles and looks over, not stopping his hand. Draco’s holding their clothes in his arms, their shoes dangling from one of his hands, his feet covered in sand.

 

“Do you know how many times I’ve fantasied about you walking in on me masturbating and offering to lend me a hand?”

 

Draco drops the clothes and shoes unceremoniously to the floor and tosses Harry’s wand on the night stand. He crawls on the bed and over Harry, one hand by Harry’s head and straddling Harry’s thighs. He places his other hand at Harry’s hip, thumb stroking the skin.

 

Harry watches as Draco licks his lips, teeth catching the bottom one. Draco glances up and meets Harry’s eyes.

 

“Do you need a hand?” Draco asks.

 

Harry nods.

 

Draco wraps his hand around Harry’s cock and pumps, hand hot but tantalizingly loose.

 

“Draco,” Harry groans, “don’t be a tease.”

 

Draco laughs. “A tease? Me?” He shifts, slipping down Harry’s legs and bites at Harry’s stomach.

 

“Would you like me to tell you about teasing?” Draco asks. His hand tightens around Harry’s cock and his other drifts down palms at Harry’s thigh. “Would you like me to tell you about the mornings where I’d pretend to be a sleep, just to listen to you?” He accents the question with a bite at Harry’s hip, sucking a bruise onto the skin.

 

“I’d lay in bed, already hard but not touching myself,” Draco continues, not waiting for a response. “And wait for your little choked moans, those half swallowed noises you make.” Draco’s fingers tighten against the skin of Harry’s thighs, fingernails leaving half-moons.

 

“You thought you were so quiet you didn’t even bother casting a silencing charm, didn’t you?” Draco asks, tongue swirling against Harry’s hip.

 

Harry gasps and arches into the touch, desperate and needy and going out of his mind.

 

“Some mornings,” Draco continues, pressing kisses up Harry’s cock. “You thought you were alone and didn’t even bother trying to be quiet. You’d moan so pretty, Harry, begging as you got close, ‘please, please, please.’”

 

He sucks at the soft skin just under the flared ridge of the crown. “And I kept thinking, I should go over there. Wrap my hands or my lips around your cock and make you beg for _me_. Make you beg, ‘please. _Draco, please_.’”

 

Draco shifts, curling his tongue around at the base of Harry’s cock. With one hand, he keeps it from twitching, and drags the other hand up to cup Harry’s bollocks. He drags the flat of his tongue up Harry’s erection and sucks at just the head, hot and slippery, fingers wrapping around the base.

 

Harry moans, a hand wrapping into Draco’s hair and tugs. Draco groans, mouth dropping open and sinks down, taking more and more of Harry’s cock into his mouth until it’s hitting the back of his throat.

 

“Fuuuuck,” Harry groans, biting his lips and pressing back into the bed. His hips twitch up of their own accord and he’s about to apologize for it when Draco moves, grabbing at his ass and taking Harry’s cock in deeper, moaning around it and swirling his tongue.

 

Harry’s got another half choked curse on his lips when Draco pulls off suddenly and sits up. In one quick jerk, he pulls Harry’s hips onto his lap and gets a hand around bother of their erections.

 

Draco looks more disheveled than Harry’s probably ever seen him. Draco’s half-dry hair is a mess, mouth dropped open and gasping out airy half moans that go straight to Harry’s cock.

 

But then Draco smirks and starts talking again.

 

“But I’d always stop myself before I could do anything,” he says, hand twisting as he reaches the head of their cocks. “I’d think, ‘If Harry wants you, he’d tell you. He’s got too much of that stupid Gryffindor courage.’” Draco leans in, pressing his lips and teeth into Harry’s collarbone and leaving marks.

 

“And I wouldn’t do anything,” he whispers. “I’d lay in my bed, aching, and listen. Imagining what you’d look like, how you’d touch yourself. If you’d wrap a hand around your hard cock or if you’d slick up and push a finger inside.”

 

Harry can feel Draco’s smirk as the blonde swirls his tongue into the hollow under Harry’s ear, biting at the shell of it.

 

“I’d imagine fucking you,” Draco says, breathless as he moves his hand from their cocks, presses it against Harry’s lower back and thrusts against Harry’s hips, a pale imitation of fucking. “Slicking you up myself and pressing in slowly, so slowly, and then I wouldn’t move till you _begged_ me to. Just let myself be wrapped up in that heat and watch you shake apart on my cock.”

 

It’s hard to think, everything hot and buoyant. It reminds Harry of when they snuck into the Astronomy Tower after midnight near the end of term just a few months ago. They spent the night drunk and giggling, watching the stars and making up new constellations.

 

“Fuck, _Draco_.”

 

Draco laughs, and traces his tongue along Harry’s lips and then against Harry’s tongue when he opens his mouth. Harry moans. The kiss is more teeth than lips but Harry feels like he’s about to come and couldn’t care less.

 

But Draco pulls away, slowing his hips. “And then you’d give me that little, strangled moan you do when you come, when you break apart. The one that turns into a sob. That’s the one that would _break me_. Break my resolve into pieces and I’d wrap a hand around myself and _come_. In fucking _seconds_ , Harry.

 

“Fuck.” Draco grabs a handful of Harry’s dark hair and crushes their lips together.

 

“The things you do to me,” Draco breathes, lips still against Harry’s.

 

Harry’s breath catches like a sob in the back of his throat. He unfairly close now, so close to coming that if Draco continues, he might come from just Draco’s cock against his own and his hot words in Harry’s ear.

 

Harry begs, “ _Draco, please_.”

 

Draco smirks, eyes opening slowly and raising to meet Harry’s. “Please what?” he asks.

 

Harry reaches up, tangling a hand in Draco’s hair. “Please,” he says again, “suck my cock. Fuck me. Anything, Draco, _please_. I need to come.”

 

Draco’s smirk widens, becomes all teeth, and Harry realizes this is what Draco was aiming for.

 

Making Harry beg for him.

 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Draco says.

 

Harry groans, falling back against the embroidered bedspread, hips thrusting against Draco’s again, faster and harder.

 

“I want to fuck you,” Draco says. “Can I fuck you, Harry?”

 

Harry nods, frantic. “Yes, yes. Please.”

 

Draco smirks, “Good.” He leans over to the nightstand and pulls the drawer open to look for the vial of lube.

 

Harry watches, panting and biting his lip. It’s unfair, how Draco looks like he’s sculpted from marble, all smooth skin and toned muscle. Harry reaches out and trails his fingers down Draco’s side, twists around so that he can trail his knuckles along the inside of Draco’s thigh.

 

Draco shivers and mutters curses under his breath.

 

“Take this off,” Harry says, running his hand back up to Draco’s forearm, to the wand holster.

 

“Yes,” Draco agrees, distracted, “just as soon as I,”—Harry rolls his eyes.

 

“Accio lube,” he says and it flies from the drawer into his hand.

 

“I hate you,” Draco says but he crawls back over and presses a hot, needy kiss to Harry’s lips. “Give it here, showoff.”

 

Harry laughs, passing the vial to Draco’s hand.

 

“Thank you,” Draco murmurs and kisses him again. He trails kisses down Harry’s neck, pausing to suck a bruise onto his collar bone, and then down his chest.

 

“Spread your legs.”

 

Harry hitches a leg over Draco’s hip. He watches as Draco spills the oil onto his fingers, moans as he traces a finger over his entrance, and fists a hand into the bedspread as Draco presses a finger inside.

 

“More,” Harry breathes. “I can take it.”

 

Draco places a kiss against Harry’s stomach and says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Please.”

 

Draco groans, “Fucking prat.” But he pushes another finger in, pumps them in and out and crooks them against Harry’s prostate.

 

“Now,” Harry says. Draco opens his mouth to say something ridiculous like ‘be patient’ or ‘not yet’ but Harry grabs him by his stupid long hair and drags him up for a desperate kiss.

 

“Draco,” Harry hisses, resting his forehead against the blonde’s. “Either fuck me or lay back so I can ride you, but I need your cock inside me _now_.”

 

Draco moans, the sound tight in his throat, and slicks up his cock.

 

“Fine, Mister Bossypants.”

 

 He hooks one of Harry’s legs into the crook of his arm and guides himself in with a hand.

 

“Fuck,” Draco says, breathy, face buried in Harry’s neck. “One of these day, I’m going to take you part slowly, Harry. Draw it out, nice and sweet, until all you know is my name.”

 

“Draco,” Harry growls, “if you don’t fucking _move_ I will,”—but the rest is caught up in a moan as Draco snaps his hips.

 

“Yes, Draco, please, like that.”

 

Draco nods, groaning, his thrusts harder. He shifts, leaning back and pinning Harry’s legs open with his hands.

 

“Hard and fast?” Draco smirks.

 

Harry nods, scratching a hand down Draco’s chest, catching the fine blonde hairs and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Harry can’t help watching the flex of Draco’s abs. He focuses on the way the blonde’s fingers dig into his thighs, the way the muscles of his forearms twitch and jump with his thrusts. Harry loses himself in the drag of Draco’s cock.

 

Harry wraps a hand around himself.

 

“Please, Draco,” he says. “I want to see you. Please, _please_.”

 

“Fuck, fuck,” and then Draco’s hips are losing their rhythm and his biting down on Harry’s shoulder.

 

Harry comes with a, “Please,” on his lips and a half swallowed noise in the back of his throat.

 

They lay together, both trying to catch their breath.

 

“I did it on purpose, you know.”

 

Draco pulls his head off of Harry’s shoulder long enough to glare at Harry.

 

“What do you mean, ‘on purpose’?”

 

Harry chuckles and threads a hand through Draco’s damp hair. “The masturbating. I knew you were there. Made sure it was just you in the room with me.”

 

“How?”—but it’s a stupid question. “The Map. Your father’s map.” Draco glares again, more menacing this time. “I should punish you. Months of sexual frustration, Harry. _Months_.”

 

Before Harry can run, Draco’s got him pinned and is sucked a bruise high on his neck.

 

“Fuck.” Even though he just came, Harry’s cock gives an interested twitch.

 

Draco pulls away with one last, small kiss.

 

“Tell me a secret,” Harry says. “Did you plan this?” The question isn’t allowed in their game, but he wants to know and Draco will answer.

 

Draco snorts and pillows his head on Harry’s chest, his fingers playing along Harry’s ribs, hard enough to be felt, but not soft enough to tickle.

 

“No,” Draco answers. “I’d originally planned on us getting pissed in the great room by that huge fireplace and talking about Quidditch or something till you had to be back. You’re the one that stripped down and ran into the sea.”

 

Harry laughs. “Of course. Now ask me.”

 

Draco hums, “Tell me a secret.”

 

Harry plucks at Draco’s hair and starts to plait a small section. He says, “If any of those love bites are high enough to be seen at my birthday party later today, I am going to kill you.”

 

Draco laughs, deep and loud. He pulls back to get a better look at Harry’s neck and trails a finger over the bruises delicately. There are quite a few.  
  
“I don’t know,” Draco hums. “Your father will probably congratulation you on them.”

 

Harry shoves Draco off the bed.

 

“I love you, darling,” Draco calls through his laughter from the floor.

 

Harry smiles, wide and bright and replies far too softly to be anything but utterly serious. “I love you, too, Draco.”

 

Later, after Draco’s apparates them back to Godric’s Hollow, after they’ve kissed goodnight, and after Harry’s woken again on the thirty-first of July, James does, in fact, congratulate him on his love bites. And when Draco reappears for Harry’s birthday party, Harry punches him hard in the arm and then drags him around the corner to kiss him breathless.

 

The git deserves it.


End file.
